


The Winchester Recital

by 5hiki



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-adjacent, Eventual Comfort, Hurt, Maybe - Freeform, Multi, Starts pre-series, a lot of hurt first, basically i'll add more tags as I go through the chapters, but now they all make me sad, sam's life makes me sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 23:20:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16147673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/5hiki/pseuds/5hiki
Summary: A Deeper Look at Supernatural - Especially the Bits we Didn't See





	1. No Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam didn’t trust Jess, or maybe he didn’t trust himself around her._

Sam doesn’t fall for Jessica straight away.

Like everything in his life so far, he couldn’t bear to jump in at the deep end. Sam is not impulsive. Each decision takes a series of logical steps and meticulous planning. Every outcome is considered, and every measure quantified. Like everything in his life for the past few months, she seems too good to be true, and after years of fighting monsters that often use good looks to lure victims in, he doesn’t trust her pretty eyes or soft face that always seems to find his from across the room. 

Like everything in general, it takes time, but he’s never aware of it. They hung out because they had the same friends, but he never made an effort to get to know her, perhaps even actively avoided it. It’s a left over instinct from a different life, and he knows it’s not going to go away.

So he doesn’t pursue her.

It’s undeniable that she’s beautiful though, and after alcohol from the college party they were both attending loosens his tongue, they do end up chatting for a while. Sam knows it’s dangerous; he never drinks too much at these things anyway. Can imagine his Father’s disapproval, but he can also imagine Dean’s suggestive eyebrow waggle when she brushes his arm as they talk. She’s giving him all of the signals, and it’s difficult to keep his head. He excuses himself before he can do anything they’ll both regret. Before anything can transpire.

He gets annoyed sometimes; frustrated that he can’t just want this without it being painful. It’s a kind of bereavement really. He got out of the life, got his full ride, and he’s not a hunter anymore in any way, shape, or form but he’s still thinking like one. _Thanks, Dad._

How long would he be looking over his shoulder for monsters? How long would he be listening for things that go bump in the night?


	2. Walk and Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jessica Seems to be Wondering the Same Thing._

  
  
“Hey Sam, can I have a word with you?” she’s approached him in the library. It’s the middle of the day, plenty of people about. This would be fine. He follows her out of the building to avoid any aggressive glares from the librarian and they sit on one of the wrought iron benches outside.  
                “What’s up, Jessica?” she rolls her eyes.  
                “I’ve told you to call me Jess, Sam.”  
                “Sorry, Jess, what’s up?”  
                “Sam.” She looks a little embarrassed. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Well he hadn’t expected that.

He’d never intended to make her feel bad. They relocate to a coffee shop so he can try to explain properly; he figures he owes her that much.  
                “Listen, Jessica.”  
                “Jess.”  
                “Right – yeah –Jess.” And he has to hold back a wry smile from the déjà vu. How many times had he corrected Dad and Dean about his own name? He barely gets to finish the thought however, before she is interrupting him.  
                “Are you gay?” he almost chokes on his coffee, which is resolutely black, another vestige of a hunter’s life. He had eyed the distressed-wood menu in the wall full of fancy drinks he couldn’t pronounce and decided that they would have to be a college experience for another day. Jess is watching him through her hair, swirling a clear plastic stroon round her own drink, which Sam hadn’t recognised the name of, but was topped with copious amounts of whipped cream and topped with what he suspected was cocoa powder. “It’s okay if you are, you know? I won’t tell anyone.” He bites his lip.  
                “No – ah – I’m…” he trails off. “I guess I don’t really know what I am. That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. You seem like a really nice person, Jess, but I’ve never dated anyone before. I wouldn’t know what to do.” He tries to explain, lamely. It’s not a lie; they’d never stayed in the same place long enough for Sam to ‘date’ anyone, but being Dean Winchester’s brother meant that hadn’t precluded him from… ‘other’ activities.  
                “I’ve never really dated before either.” She admits quietly.  
                “Yeah, right.”  
                “No, really. I’ve always concentrated on school; my family and friends. But you’re interesting, Sam. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”  
                “Oh yeah? How?” And he’s pushing now, and it’s not fair to her, but he wants her to realise that she’s made a mistake – that it’s just a crush.”  
                “You’re at one of the best schools in the country even though I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything that’s not second hand. You work harder than anyone else I know, whether it’s your school work, or sports, despite the fact you clearly don’t need to. We’re friends but I don’t think I know anything about you that is any way personal and you’re…” she trailed off, embarrassed.  
                “Yes?”  
                “You’re kind.”  
                “What?”  
                “You’re kind. You’re angry, I don’t know whether you’re more angry at the world or yourself but you’re kind, because you use that anger to push yourself in everything you do.”

 _Angry._ That stings a bit. It’s an accusation that used to get thrown his way in a lot of different forms. Stroppy, irritable, _angry._ But he knows it’s not uncalled for.  
  
               “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” He offered, feebly.  
               “You don’t frighten me. I mean, yeah, you’re the size of the abominable snowman, but you don’t frighten me.” She paused to take a sip of her drink. “Anger affects people in different ways. Some people want to take revenge, some people want to destroy themselves -heck – some people just want to be angry. I believe, then, that there are some people that want to use their anger to make the world a better place.” He doesn’t bother holding back the wry smile this time.  
                “And you think that’s me?”  
                “Huh? Oh no, that’s another boy I’m seeing after we’re done talking here.” It takes him a split second before he’s laughing with her as she points at him playfully. “I got you~! I got you~!” She teases.

They chat a little more, mostly about mundane things like lectures and extra-curricular clubs, before she’s telling him she has to leave, but giving him her number and making plans to see each other that weekend. Sam doesn’t feel his feet hit the pavement as he paces all the way back to his dorm, and by the time he’s locked the door behind him the paper scrap with her digits on has been crumpled almost beyond recognition by his iron grip.

Sam learnt a long time ago to keep hold of the things he wanted and not let go for anyone.

He flops down on his bed and stares at the ceiling. A smudge in his eye-line reminds him of the mole on Jess’s forehead and he can feel himself grinning like a love-struck teenager, because possibly for the first time in his life, that’s exactly what he is. He flips open his phone and keys in the numbers before starting to fill in the contact information.  
**_  
Forename: Jessica_**

He grins to himself before erasing the last three letters.

**Forename: Jess**

**Surname:**

... Oh _shit._


	3. Venus Fly Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sam keeps a journal, everyone has a codename._

Sam keeps a journal, of course he does. If not hunter tradition, it certainly is a Winchester one. Dad has his leather-bound binder, a catalogue of secrets with a backlog of remorse. Dean seemed to like scribbling in those reporter-style notebooks. Just like Dean, it was utilitarian. Each line only a few keywords in block capitals. Every Christmas Dean would buy a new one at whatever gas station they stopped at, and each New Year he would burn the old one.  
                Sam’s is also leather-bound, covered in tiny spidery writing because he wants it to last for as long as possible. There are scraps of paper stuck in everywhere making it appear almost full even though he had only just got to the half-way point, and the spine is held together with duct-tape. Some of it’s written in different languages, in codes of his own creation (he’d read about Leonardo Da Vinci doing something similar and the idea had stuck with him). There are a few messy biro sketches or even sometimes, simply strings of colours or numbers, for when he never ever wanted anyone to know what he had written. 

Everyone he mentions has a code name. 

This had occurred to him right after he had had a near-miss of leaving the book in a diner after writing about a friend he had made at school. The icy panic that had trickled through his system at the thought of what a monster could do with the information in it if they figured out to whom it belonged… Thus he spent a painstaking four hours editing and redacting that night in order to be sure that no harmful information could be gleaned from it should it fall into the wrong hands.

Dad is Whiskey, Dean is Impala, and Bobby is Baseball cap. Mom is Angel.

These names used to come up so often that Sam sometimes resorted to using dots from the face of a die or shapes, each one linked in his head with a specific person in his family even though he’s never said them out loud before. They come up less frequently now.  
                When he writes about Jess for the first time, the words “Venus Fly Trap” are on the page before he even has to think about it. It suits her, though. He had thought that she were beautiful enough to be dangerous after all. And now he’s spoken to her properly, he also sees that she’s quick, and wicked-smart. A lot of people probably wouldn't see it for the compliment he means it as. But Jess might.  


Yeah, Venus Fly Trap would do.


	4. Ever the Man of Intrigue, Sam Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But you did actually like it?” asks Jess again for the millionth time. “Yes, Jess, I actually liked it.”_

Sam’s used to being afraid. He’s been living in fear since nine years of age. But here he was, nervous, because a girl was going to see his room. _Aww Sammy, don’t go screwing up now._ teased the Dean in his head. His books were tidy, there were no clothes on the floor; he was ready. He was ready. 

He felt like a werewolf was using his heart as a chew toy.

Jess arrives promptly, with pizza, and they settle in to watch a movie. The movie is an old black and white deal, the kind Jess had confessed to love a couple of days ago. Sam finds himself strangely engrossed in it. To the point where it actually surprises him when she gently rests a head on his shoulder. There’s a little niggle in his head that says he should have been more aware of what was going on around him but he pushes it away. From this position the citrus smell of Jess’ shampoo is tickling his nose and while it doesn’t smell like home per say, Sam supposes that’s because he’s never had a home.  
                When the film is over they forage through Sam’s cupboards for cookies and discuss the film.  
                “But you did actually like it?” asks Jess again for the millionth time.  
                “Yes, Jess, I actually liked it.” He grins through a mouthful of cookie, imitating her tone and intonation. She begins pacing the space, feeling it out. Her delicate fingers brush against the spines of the books on his shelf.  
                “You know Japanese?” she turns, raising an impressed eyebrow. He catches sight of the Haruki Murakami anthology she’s paused on.  
                “The book’s in English,” He admits “but my Uncle does.”  
                “And you’re a mythology geek, huh?” she remarks, indicating the other thickly bound books Bobby had given him.  
                “Just a hobby.” He shrugs.  
                “Ever the man of intrigue, Sam Winchester.” Her eyes twinkle. 

It’s nice, hearing his name from her lips. And he’s struck with the sudden realisation that he wants to kiss it off them at the first available opportunity. 

They settle in to watch another film, Jess’ pick again because Sam claims that his taste is hardly up-to-date, and isn’t it sad that that’s at the very bottom of the list of true things you’ve told her. He doesn’t pay as much attention to this one – he has an intolerance for horror movies and plays it off as being squeamish - but she lets him keep the first movie, Harvey. In return, he lends her the Haruki Murakami book, and they promise to swap back next week when they meet to study.  
                After Jess leaves it seems like the room is too empty. It feels like there’s an echo even though there’s no sound. Sam goes into his duffel and digs out his cassette player, jamming in the mix tape that Dean had given him for his fourteenth birthday. It’s full of their favourite songs, and Sam hasn’t been able to listen to it yet. Surprisingly he doesn’t feel bitter or even sad. If anything he felt a little numb.

His shoulder where Jess had rested her head was still warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, the film mentioned - Harvey - is a 1950s black and white film starring Jimmy Stuart and genuinely my favourite film. And well worth a watch if you get the opportunity. The second film was Thirteen Ghosts with Tony Shalhoub AND Jason Gray-Stanford (from Monk) - and it's as I'm typing this I realise I watch too much TV - which I do also like but does contain a pretty horrific scene where a character has his spine broken by being picked up horizontally and bent the wrong way around the corner of a corridor. And this became the reason I couldn't crack a glow stick for like three years... I have overshared.


	5. I Guess Normal is As Normal Does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Every So Often Sam Realises That He's Just Not Normal._

Wednesday morning finds Sam crossing off the day before of his wall calendar with mixed feelings. Somewhere between getting into bed and falling asleep the previous night, he had realised with only a slight start that he had been living in Palo Alto now for eight months. 

It’s the longest he’s lived in one place for as long as he can remember. 

He knows the streets around where he lives, not because he’s kept a mental map in his head from the moment he arrived, but because he’s spent time there. He has friends that know his real name, he _knows_ this place. He’s actually _lived_ here. 

It doesn’t seem like a lot.

But it is a lot to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ended up getting a triple chapter update tonight because this last one is so short. My draft is now up to 12,000 words so I felt like spoiling you~! Bonus points for you if you recognise what the chapter title is a reference to!


	6. Eating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They don't eat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Trigger warning for EDNOS/poor self-image/poor self-esteem - please don’t read if you don’t want to**  
>   
> 
> On that note, no chapter is 'necessary' to read, since there won't be any major canon divergences, so I'll always put any warnings that apply to a chapter at the top, and you can just skip it if you want to. kay?

They don’t eat.

  
Not like normal people do. Some days there are no worries, they order pizza, they bake cookies, they pick up sandwiches on the way back from lectures.

  
Other days are different.

  
It’s not that he doesn’t know that his body needs fuel to function. That’s how he has to think of it sometimes, as fuel, a purely mechanical process. He’s lost count of the amount meals he had chewed and swallowed down without tasting. But he’d been able to do it; whilst hunting. There were set amounts of protein and carbohydrates that he made sure to consume. He rationalised it as keeping his family safe. Sometimes he had blips, but Dad was never around to notice, and Dean seemed to think it was normal behaviour for him.

               Sam has always been a health “freak”, as Dean would say. Often forgoing the greasy diner food that was all that they had the money for. John had no time to coddle kids who wouldn’t eat the food in front of them. Dean was not so easy to convince. Wheedling Sam with fries until Sam would put away a portion just to make him happy, hustling pool when they were staying in town in order to stack their fridge with “rabbit food” as he put it.

  
Other times he had been less sympathetic.

  
“For god’s sake, Sam! Stop being such a diva and eat the damn burger!” Sam would stubbornly purse his lips shut and push the plate away. “Fine, see if I care!”  
               Sam was stubborn, but he had learnt that stubbornness from Dean, and the burger would always make it back to the motel room, wrapped up to go by the underpaid waitress.  
               “You’re being selfish” Dean hissed before jamming his headphones over his head and blasting Metallica from his busted up cassette player, before crossing his arms and shutting his eyes, as if he even couldn’t bear to look at Sam at that moment.  
               This had been after a particularly stressful day of travelling and arguing between all three of the Winchesters, which John had promptly escaped after dinner by heading off to the nearest bar after tossing Dean the keys. Sam had been in no mood to acquiesce to any requests made of him, and had promptly dropped the wrapped up burger in the bin, making sure that Dean had seen, before flipping off the fluorescent light in stony silence and taking the sofa.  
               Now though, the guilt was compacting in his chest, and he walked back over to the bin and picked it out, glad that in his strop he hadn’t unwrapped it. The burger was cold, which was obviously his fault, and unappetising which was just standard for cheap burgers, but he ate every bite – ignoring the way it made his stomach roll.  
               Later on, when Dean came around, he found the empty burger wrapper on the side table between the two beds with something scribbled on it in black biro.

  
_“Sorry, Dean”_

  
               When Sam wakes up on the lumpy sofa, covered in the comforter from Dean’s bed. The smell of the godforsaken burger is too strong. He wrinkles his nose and realises the wrapper is right next to his face.

  
_“Sorry bitch”_

  
Sam smiles and mutters “jerk” to the darkened room.

  
So yeah, Sam has blips.

  
Jess is different.

  
She is a product of a society of which Sam has barely been a part. She’s spent her whole life being told that she has to be pretty, funny, smart. Thin but curvy in the right places, she shouldn’t diet but should somehow maintain a perfect figure, exercise with a face full of un-smudged make up and styled hair. And she does it without a second thought. Sam can’t help but admire her ability to adjust at whatever’s thrown at her. Sometimes he doesn’t understand how she’s so well adjusted.

  
Sometimes she isn’t.

  
Jess was meant to be here meeting Sam twenty minutes ago, there was a party going on in their block that she had been so excited about and so he had reluctantly agreed to go. What the hell, Sam isn’t much of a drinker, but it could be fun.  
               He doesn’t want to rush her, he figures the hair and the makeup and that cool thing she does with her eyeliner must take time. He also doesn’t want to seem crazy. His hunter instincts are screaming at him that something awful must be happening, but Brady told him to “chill out, chicks take their time.”  
               Sam makes it another five minutes before he’s leaving the party as quickly as is socially acceptable – and even that gets him a few strange looks. As soon as he’s out of eyeshot he sprints to her room, banging on the door with urgency. Yeah, he doesn’t have a weapon, but he’ll use a lamp or a chair or whatever as long as she’s safe and-

  
“Sam?”

  
“Jess?”

                He’s in her room as soon as she opens the door, holding her close, looking around for the danger. It takes him a second to realise she’s crying. Well, she was crying. Shock at his arrival and apparent impending insanity has rendered her quiet, but her face is still wet, eyelashes fused together with smeared makeup and tears. “Jess, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What’s happened?” he holds her at arms’ length and inspects her from head to toe. She uses the distance to break out of his hold, and turns away from him, wiping her face as she does so. It doesn’t have the desired effect, and she seems to only succeed in smearing it worse.  
               “I’m not going to the party Sam, I don’t feel like it.” Her voice softened “You should go back and have fun. I’m sorry.” She walks away from him and shuts the door behind her, hiding herself in the separate area that houses her bed.

  
_Well done Sam, you had a girlfriend for a whole six weeks before she realised you were batshit crazy. Good job._

  
               “Jess?” He knocks on the door before opening it, taking the fact that she hadn’t locked it as a good sign. She’s curled up on her bed, hiding her face in her knees. The room, which is normally fairly neat with only a sweater or two on the floor, is so covered in clothes that Sam can barely see the carpet.  
               “Go away, Sam.” There’s no malice in it, she just sounds small, and tired. He takes a single step into the room and lowers his voice.  
               “I will, I will go if that’s what you want. But please Jess, tell me what’s going on with you. How can I help?” She mumbles something into her knees that he can’t catch. “Sorry?” she looks up suddenly, eyes still filled with tears, muscles tensed.  
               “I said I’m ugly! Sam!”  
               “Ugly… ? What-?”  
               “Yes I’m ugly, and hideous and- and – fat!!” she spits the word, and she’s grabbing at her arms and legs now, slightly hysterical pinching every ounce of skin she can get her hands on as if this somehow proves what she’s saying.  
               “Jess, if there’s one thing I know it’s that none of that is true.” He says gently.  
               “Then you clearly don’t know very much!” she flops backwards on her bed. He takes a chance, and sits down on the edge, keeping out of her personal space.  
               “Actually, I think you’ll find I’m very smart” he quips and grins cheekily. It’s a grin that just last week she had described as ‘adorable’, now he gets the impression she’s considering slapping it off his face. He holds up his hands in placation as she rolls over, but instead of going for him she grabs her own stomach, squeezing again.  
               “Then why do I look like this?!” she demands angrily, until after a second, when all the fight seems to go out of her again and she sags into the bed, chest heaving with silent sobs. And Sam feels a momentary rush of anger that Jess looks so defeated. She should never look like that. He takes her hands gently, turns them over as if examining them, pecks kisses on each short but carefully painted nail.  
               “You look like this, because I’ve seen these hands play the most beautiful piano I’ve ever heard, and make the most amazing cookies I’ve ever tasted.” He strokes up and down her arms, over her shoulders and neck. Gently, always gentle with Jess. “I’ve seen you carry fundraising buckets for entire weekends which are always full of change because no-one can say no to you.” His right thumb rests on her lips as his left one caresses her cheek. “I’ve heard this mouth tell the most wicked jokes and speak somewhat-passable French.” She taps his arm lightly, in mock annoyance. “You look like this, because at some point a couple of stars must have fallen from the sky to become your eyes. You look like this, because my girlfriend is the most beautiful, funny and talented woman in the world.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “So please don’t make her cry by saying mean things about her, because I love her more than anything in the world. She’s the axis my universe revolves around.”

  
“Good answer, Sam Winchester.” She murmurs after a moment.

  
“I told you I was smart.”


	7. It Could All Be Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't take Jess for granted - not for a second

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna do a multi-update today until I reach chapter 10, so my tumblr and ao3 are in sync =) A couple of them are short anyway and I don't have an update schedule orz

Jess is the best thing in Sam’s life right now. Since going to Stanford, losing Dad and Dean; he doesn’t have anything in the way of family. Technically there’s Bobby and Pastor Jim, but he’s cut himself off from them too. He can’t really bare to hear the same rejection from them as well. “ _If you’re going, don’t come back.”_ It’s not like they’re super close.

 They always liked Dean more, anyway.  
  
                Jess is the first person in his life that’s solely his. She doesn’t know Dad or Dean, doesn’t know any hunters; as far as he’s aware – it’s not like he’s going to bring it up anyway. He knows, realistically, that he’ll have to come clean about that eventually. Not just because it would be safer, but also because he wouldn’t feel right about lying to her anyways. But right now, he’s just… Waiting. And he’s enjoying the wait. Because he’s ninety percent sure that once he does tell her she’ll either accuse him of being crazy or ill – possibly schizophrenic – or a freak, and she's the one person he can't hear that from right now. It’s the first time since he was nine years old since he hasn’t had this sense of impending doom. Of feeling like it could all be gone tomorrow. That’s ridiculous, of course. It definitely could all be gone tomorrow. And wasn’t that the worst part? The fact that Jess, of all people, had no idea what she was signing up for?

He’d tried once, to cut off all communication. Just go radio silence on her and let her make her own assumptions.

He hadn’t even made it a week.

Really, it was a little bit pathetic, considering he hadn’t seen any of his blood relatives since last year; he could hardly claim to be sentimental, could he? Sam has to guess that that’s what happens when you grow up keeping all of your worldly possessions in a duffel bag.  



	8. It's Still Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn't take any part of his new life for granted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a short chapter, I hope you're not too disappointed.

 

It’s not just Jess either. He has _friends._ Friends that he’s not going to have to leave in a couple of weeks, ones that know his real name, and his _one_ phone number. It’s a million miles away from everything he’s ever known, and the novelty hasn’t worn off. His grades are even better than they were, having been able to stay at one campus with the same teachers and curriculum. He managing to put more muscle on and improve his health. All in all, going to Stanford is the best choice he’s ever made. He knows this, realistically; he _does_.

It’s still hard sometimes.

Especially on January 24th

Sam sits on the roof of the physical sciences building. He may be out of the game, but it’s not like he’s forgotten how to break into places he shouldn’t be. He’s got a litre bottle of whiskey that he’s made a sizeable dent in and his phone in his hand.  He _never_ forgot Dean’s birthday. Even if their Dad was out on a hunt and they only had ten dollars to their name, Sam had always got him a present. A Metallica tape, boots to replace the ones that were falling apart, the amulet that Bobby had given him. Sam never forgot.

But he didn’t even know where Dean was right now, so it’s not like he could send anything in the mail.

That’s why he’d been considering breaking his self-imposed radio silence for the past week. But now it was approaching eleven pm on Dean’s birthday night and Sam couldn’t find the words. “Happy Birthday” would be too casual; anything else would dredge up too much from the past. He’d already decided on texting, seeing as he doubted Dean would answer his call. But it would be nice to hear Dean’s voice…  
                Taking another pull of whiskey for courage he hit “call” on Dean’s number before he could think better of it. Sam barely had enough time to swallow it down before hearing the discordant chimes and the cool female voice saying “ _we are sorry, but the number you are trying to call has been disconnected-“_

Sam ends the call.

What had he expected really? Of course Dean would have a new number by now. Before he can think better of it he calls Bobby.


	9. Bobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hasn't spoken to Bobby since he left for Stanford

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's much longer! Shifting POVs, I love Bobby being there for his boys.  
> This also contains a comparative look at the past compared to the future. Hopefully that's clear.

“Alright, alright, I’m comin’!” yelled Bobby at the phone – not that it ever took the hint – as he creaked his way down the stairs. Sad thing was, he couldn’t tell what was making the creaking anymore; the wood beneath him or his knees. A call at this time of night usually meant a hunter, and goddangit if it was Rufus again –  “Singer Salvage, there better be a damn big problem to call at this time of night.”

  
                “Bobby?”

Balls

Of course Bobby recognised the voice on the end of the phone. _Sam_. Kid hadn’t called him since picking up the paperwork on his way to Stanford and muttering a few sentences about how his Daddy had kicked him out. Damn if he didn’t want to punch John in the face sometimes, dammit more if he didn’t want to shoot him with rock salt.  
                When Sam had called over a year and a half ago asking in hushed tones if he could use Bobby’s address for some mail he was expecting, Bobby had been fine with it.  
                “Sure Sam, mi casa es su casa an’ all that, but d’ya mind me asking what it is son? I’d rather not get busted for having two tonnes of polonium being delivered to my door.” That normally would have gotten a chuckle out of Sam, but if possible he got even quieter.  
                “C-college application stuff” the kid had whispered. _Ah._  
                “I’m guessing you don’t want your Daddy knowin’ about this?”  
                “Please Bobby, he’ll be so- he won’t-“  
                “Don’t worry kid, I’ve gotcha back.”  
                “Thanks, Bobby.” The relief in Sam’s voice was palpable.  
                “Did’ja try talkin’ to him?”  
                “Yeah.” Sam answered miserably “But he just got madder the more I brought it up. He wants us to hunt, well, forever I guess.” Bobby wiped a hand over his face, this was a whole can of worms he wasn’t qualified to open.  
                “What about Dean?”  
                “What about Dean?” Sam answered.  
                “Sam, you boys are close as hell, you don’t think he’d support you?” Sam seemed to take a deep breath over the phone.  
                “Dean would tell Dad” he eventually said in resignation. “Bobby we’re really not that close anymore.”

Now it was Bobby’s turn to take a deep breath.

It’s not like the boys weren’t different; Dean had always been confident, cocky even. Never too interested in school but always interested in the girls that were there. A crack hand with a shotgun – hell – Bobby was pretty sure Dean had surpassed his own aim by age fifteen. Not to say that Sam wasn’t a good hunter, of course he was, but he had grown up shy, more reserved, only really confident to argue when he was _absolutely_ sure he knew he was correct. Which he often was – kid was wicked smart – Bobby had seen it when Sam started pouring over tomes in his library at age twelve that were usually too much for thirty-year-olds to handle. And he had always understood Sam’s frustration, prior to learning about the supernatural, because the kid also knew when he _didn’t_ know something.  
                As different as they were, he had never seen closer brothers. Okay, Bobby didn’t know any brothers raised the way Sam and Dean had been but still. The way Dean had shown off Sam’s test scores when John had left them at Bobby’s; “ _98% Bobby! 98%! Top of his class! Sammy’s a genius!”_ , or the way that Sam would hang on Dean’s every word when he made up bedtime stories for his younger brother, obvious hero-worship in his eyes. You didn’t just throw that kind of stuff away.

Damn kids were gonna break his heart

                “So, d’you know where you wanna apply to?” he was weak, he was weak and he couldn’t deal with what Sam had no choice but to deal with, so he changed the subject. And sweet kid that Sam was, he let him.  
                “A couple of places. I really want to go to Stanford, though, to do law.”  
                “Well if anyone can do it, kid, you can. You need anything, Sam, you let me know, okay? This’ll stay between us.”  
                “Thanks, Bobby, Thank you so much.” Bobby briefly wondered whether Sam had heard that kind of support from anyone lately.  
                “Knock ‘em dead, sport.” Bobby put down the phone feeling satisfied. He had said a lot of dumb things in his life, but this time, he was pretty sure he had got that exactly right.

                “Bobby?”  
                “Sam? That you kid?”  
                “Yeah.” There was silence on the line for a moment.  
                “You need something kid?” Sam hiccoughed and Bobby wondered whether he was imagining the slight slur in his next words.  
                “Is Dean okay?”  
                “Dean? Yeah, as far as I know, I spoke to him about a week ago, he was taking care of a haunting in Toledo, why?”  
                “Oh…”  
                “Spit it out kid, when you’re as ugly as I am you need your beauty sleep.”  
                “It’s his birthday today, Bobby.” Bobby quickly turned to glance at the calendar, _balls_.  
                “So-“ Bobby paused, wondering which angle to come at this from “-Did’ja get him anything?” there’s a huff from the end of the line which could have been a laugh or indignation.  
                “Didn’t know where he was, Bobby.” _Double balls._  
               “’Course not son, sorry.”  
                “Tried calling him, phone’s disconnected.”  
                “You want his number kid?”  
                “I don’t know, Bobby, I don’t know. Just-just tell him happy birthday from me. And that I hope he’s okay. And that I’m sorry.”  
                “Sure, Sam, but are you-“ the line clicked off. Bobby ran a hand through his hair before replacing his baseball cap.

Yeah. damn kids were gonna break his heart all right.


	10. Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn't celebrate his birthday, not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's side of his birthday, it's going to get angsty.

Dean was awoken to his phone ringing at – _ugh –_ quarter to one in the morning. His mouth tasted like a badger’s asshole and his head pounded. _Yeah, when you start birthday drinking at two in the afternoon, that’ll happen._ He was sorely tempted to go back to sleep and just let it go to voicemail, but it was Bobby calling, and damn if he hadn’t called Bobby at worse hours.  
                “Y’llo?”  
                “Hey kid, you still half asleep or still drunk?” Bobby, infuriatingly, sounded wide awake.  
                “Both.”  
                “Heh, figured. Birthday drinks with yer Daddy still a tradition then?”  
                “Drinks? Yeah. Dad? No.”  
                “What happened?”  
                “He’s on a hunt..uh…in Maine. Skin walker he thinks.”  
                “You two still hunting together though, right?”  
                “Yeah Bobby, we’re not stupid, just this goddamn ghost took too long so we decided to divide and conquer, I’m gonna make my way to him tomorrow.”  
                “Good, that’s good, boy. Don’t hunt alone when you don’t have to.”  
                “As much as I ‘ppreciate the concern Bobby, I have half a bar and two very accommodating waitresses to sleep off before I do head out so what’s up?” Bobby paused.  
                “Happy birthday son.”  
                “Thanks Bobby, but again.”  
                “Sam called me.” Dean barely managed to hold back the groan and considered hanging up.  
                “Pft. Figures he’d call _you_ on _my_ birthday.” He said bitterly, and then because he couldn’t help it. “Is he alright?”  
                “Yeah, ya idjit. He called me, because he _wanted_ to call you, but the last number he had for you was disconnected.”  
                “Oh, yeah, guess it is.”  
                “His is the same though, so you can stop all that ‘woe is me’ crap if you really wanted to talk to him.” Dean doesn’t have an answer to that so he just waits. “He said happy birthday, that he hopes you’re doing okay, and... that he’s sorry. Didn’t elaborate but I think we both know what he meant.” Dean scoffs.  
                “He’s sorry? Oh, well that’s all okay then.”  
                “C’mon, Dean, don’t’ja think you’ve punished him enough?” Dean clenches his jaw.  
                “I dunno Bobby, what’s the sentence on abandoning the only family you have left?” Bobby sucks air in through his teeth.  
                When Sam had left for college, it had taken precisely twenty four hours for John and Dean to figure out that Bobby had probably helped Sam, but a little over two weeks before they headed to Sioux Falls in the impala. John had punched Bobby, cursed at him, yelled at him, told him not to mistake his family for his own and to keep his damn nose out, before turning tail and slamming the door on his way out. Dean had only been able to stand there and watch, a lump in his throat.  
                “Why, Bobby?” he had asked “Why’ja have to help him do it?” Bobby could only stare forlornly at his surrogate son.  
                “Because somebody had to, Dean.”  
                Dean had buried the resentment, locked it up tight in a box. Along with everything else he didn’t want to deal with. He was back on speaking terms with Bobby.  

John was not

                “You know that’s not what he did Dean. It was yer Daddy who-“  
                “Bobby, just- just don’t, okay? Thanks for passing on the message an’ all, I’ll talk to you soon.” Bobby replies with resignation, knowing he was getting no-where.  
                “Bye, Dean. Look after yourself, son.”

Dean lay awake for a long time after that, despite his overwhelming urge to sleep, unable to turn his mind off. Eventually, he decided that this was another conversation to bury, if Sam wasn’t coming back, then there was no point in keeping a ghost around.

He salts and burns the memories in his mind.


	11. Like Brother, Like Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam doesn’t celebrate his birthday either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh gawwwwwd, I'm sorry it's taken so long for an update.  
> Basically all the laptops in my house have crashed out and I refuse to write/upload fanfiction during my lunch break at work... that would just... no  
> I hope you enjoy this long awaited chapter though - it one of my favourites so far just because I like writing comedy dialogue. If you have any questions about my own headcanons just ask me in the comments! or on my tumblr they-know-not-what(.)tumblr(.)com - I'm happy to explain   
> Have a lovely day~

Time flies when you’re having fun, so they say, but Sam knows that time also flies when your Father’s about to be gutted by a werewolf and you have to find the gun your brother dropped in the dark when the damn thing knocked him unconscious. 

Time flew whilst he was at Stanford. 

He studies, he goes out with Jess, he reluctantly attends parties with Brady, Ricky and the others in their close-knit circle of friends. He writes essays, goes to his lectures, finally reads Harry Potter. He never has to steal or hustle pool and he and Jess go out jogging together twice a week. It’s the normal life he always dreamed of. It’s still hard sometimes.

Especially on May 2nd 

Finals have been and gone and maybe that’s why he didn’t realise his birthday was fast approaching until he gets a call from Bobby. They’ve kept in touch, sporadically. Sam’s been busy and Bobby fields 117 calls per day from hunters so it’s not like they’re pen pals. But it’s nice. Sam checks up on his family each time, and each time Bobby reassures him, before asking him how school is going and whether he’s got any news. He never ends a call before telling Sam that he’s proud of him, and to call if he ever needs anything. Really, it’s more than Sam had hoped for, more than he feels he deserves, and he can’t express the gratitude he feels to Bobby in words – no chick flick moments, Sammy – so he hopes the man can hear it in his voice.

He even tells Bobby about Jess. 

“So kid, solved world hunger yet?”   
“Not yet Bobby, not yet.” Sam answers with a laugh. “But er- there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”  
“Hit me.”  
“I’ve met someone.” He’s treated to a long silence on the other end of the line and Sam wonders whether this was a bad idea.  
“Someone like…?”  
“Like a girl, like a girl _friend_ , Bobby. Someone I really care about.” Another long pause.  
“Shit, you’re not expecting me to give ya the birds and the bees talk are ya?” Sam laughed so hard he nearly fall off his bed.  
“No!” he said emphatically. “God no, _please_ , don’t. I don’t know who that would be more excruciating for.”  
“Good.” The other man replied gruffly.  
“Besides, I probably know more than you, old man.” Sam teased  
“Watch it, boy.” Bobby said, but he had started to laugh too, by then. “So, this girl of yours… She cute?”  
“She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. She’s smart, and kind and funny and Bobby I know you’d love her if you met her.” Sam left unsaid the part where it’s likely she’ll never meet Bobby, that he wanted to keep Jess far away from hunting and therefore basically everyone and everything he’s ever known. Bobby didn’t pushed him on it though.   
“Well, Sam, I’m pleased for you, real pleased for you, son. That’s great.”  
“Thanks Bobby.”  
“Been wondering when those Winchester genes were gonna kick in, thought maybe you just didn’t know where to stick it.” Sam laughed again, as does Bobby, though he’s trying to play it straight.  
“Oh, god, Bobby, you really gonna do this?”  
“Thought maybe I’d have to have a conversation with you about batting for the other team.”  
“Bobby any time you want to stop-“  
“-Driving on the other side of the street-“  
“-I’m going to need so much therapy.”

It’s only when he finishes another call with Bobby –lying on his bed, post-workout exhaustion - in which he had been wished a happy birthday that Sam realises the date. His phone quickly beeps before he can put it down; it’s a text from Bobby. Frowning, Sam opens the message.

_Sam – I didn’t think you’d listen to me over the phone but I want you to know Dean still has your number, I told him to call you – dunno if the idjit’s gonna listen to me - anyway here’s his. Happy birthday son._

After it was a string of numbers which Sam automatically saves under Dean’s old contact information that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to delete. He holds the phone tightly to his chest and realises what Bobby has done for him. 

This was his gift.

Sam stares at the ceiling for a long time before biting the bullet and calling Dean. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, couldn’t let himself think that far ahead or he’d talk himself out of it. There are three beeps. 

_Call declined ._

Sam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and tries to brush it off. Well that’s that, then. He knew his Dad was stubborn, should have known that when he’d said “don’t come back” that had meant the end of everything. But Dean never forgot his birthday. Dean… If it had gone to voicemail, Sam could understand that. But Dean had his number, he knew it was Sam calling, holding out the metaphorical olive branch as it were.   
His thumb hovers over Dean’s contact on his phone. It’s tempting to call again. But the petty part of him doesn’t want to give in, wants Dean to be the one to break first. He’s suddenly furious in a way he hasn’t been since the last time he saw his family, wants to yell and fight and smash something. Goddamit he wants to stab a monster in the throat so he can hear the gurgling noise as it takes its dying breath. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t scream or yell or break anything. 

He doesn’t call Dean. Instead, he calls Jess. 

She comes over with a large vegetarian pizza and a six pack. She seems to sense that he doesn’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering him, and as promised doesn’t mention his birthday.

**Author's Note:**

> This has been my pet project for a long time - please be kind!   
> New Chapters are uploaded to my tumblr first! they-know-not-what (tagged twr)   
> Comments are loved!


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